“Forgive me my sins, those took untimely. Forgive me my trespass, lands I had no claim to.”, the Scion of Ancelot uttered her prayer to powers that exceeded even her own, the thinly-gloved hands gently held her blade’s black edge, her commanding voice echoing quietly in the main cathedral. Alone, silent. She ended her prayer with a simple “Amen”, such rituals were needed even for Paladins who had impunity to vanquish all evil. Many get caught in the crossfire, many simply follow orders. There is no such thing as a clean war.

The thick aura blazing behind her raised her head, she didn’t turn, an aura she felt before, many times under many conditions. It lashed and struck at the divinity of Ancelot like a swarm of whips. The Scion stood, and walked towards the massive organ in the main chamber as the overwhelming spoke, “I will never understand such silly logic, Lanford.”

Replies to This Discussion

I liked the piece. Dark and complex. Not my usual read, but enjoyable none the less. I was at a meeting of Writers and Artists on Saturday, sponsored by Bloomsbury and they were talking about the authors Voice as the single greatest asset; yours speaks loud and clear. Keep writing!

I liked the piece. Dark and complex. Not my usual read, but enjoyable none the less. I was at a meeting of Writers and Artists on Saturday, sponsored by Bloomsbury and they were talking about the authors Voice as the single greatest asset; yours speaks loud and clear. Keep writing!